Bloody Valentine
by MrBenzedrine
Summary: Post-War. Draco Malfoy gets wind that Hermione is planning a Saint Valentine's Day Massacre - and he thinks it has something to do with the house elves. How can he get her to stop, without having her arrested and thoroughly ruining his chances with her? Misunderstandings and chaos abounds. A comedy of errors. COLLAB with LightofEvolution! ONE SHOT. COMPLETE!


**"Bloody Valentine"**

 **Prompt/Synopsis: Post-War. Draco Malfoy gets wind that Hermione is planning a Saint Valentine's Day Massacre - and he thinks it has something to do with the house elves. How can he get her to stop, without having her arrested and thoroughly ruining his chances with her? Misunderstandings and chaos abounds. A comedy of errors.**

 **Rating: M**

 **Beta'd by the lovely DayDreamer1123**

 **A collaboration by LightofEvolution and MrBenzedrine**

 **Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter, and we will not make a profit from this story. XD However, we probably will gain a few friends.**

* * *

Draco's Saturday started off as any other: get up, pilfer some candies out of a first year's duffle bag, scope out the library for girls with short skirts sitting at tables, and then a quick trip to the Astronomy tower for exercise. He wanted to stay in shape for said girls, after all. And with the Gryffindors hogging the Quidditch pitch, as they usually did, a bloke needed to make due with what he had.

Returning to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year hadn't been nearly as stressful as he expected. _For now_. Still, it was February, so after his cardio training, Draco returned to the warmer confines of the castle. He thought nothing of the formerly enslaved (now _inconveniently_ free) house elf that sauntered down the corridor in his direction. Nothing until he heard the elf mutter under its breath in passing while wringing its boney, leathery hands.

"All the red… red everywhere... Miss always does what she thinks is best for us, she thinks… too much red… Mipsy is thinking it is too much! Too much!"

The house elf paused, horrified, as it noticed Draco's presence. After all, the house elf in question used to belong to the Malfoys before the War. It still baffled Lucius Malfoy to no end how each and every house elf mysteriously was given a sock before his release from Azkaban.

"Sorry, Master Draco. Mipsy can't take it anymore." The elf bowed to its feet and left Draco wondering what had caused a war-ridden elf to lose its observant posture like this.

 _Odd_ , Draco thought, giving a light shrug. Still, the day was young and so was he, and he didn't feel like tiring over the musings of a babbling creature on such a friendly morning. On the young Malfoy went down the hallway, unabashed by misgivings or discrepancies until a short, blonde girl turned the corner of the hallway with far too much force and nearly ran smack dab into him. Draco recognized her as Head Girl Olivia Bolivia, a pretty, petite thing with breasts larger than what her frame should carry and a hind end just made for grabbing. (What? He could check her out, even if she was a Ravenclaw. She was of age.)

"Oh, now what do we have here?" he smirked, letting his voice drip with confident charm. His hands were gripping her upper arms to stabilize her, a move that provided him a nice view down her blouse. But the girl had no eyes for him or his impressive form.

"She's a danger to us unsuspecting pupils, that one. I suspect they didn't check her thoroughly after the War."

"Who?"

"That Granger!" The Head Girl calling the other witch anything besides 'Hermione' should have given him a clue about the severity of the situation. But it didn't. Olivia huffed in anger and threw her hands up in a universal gesture of crazy and rushed off into the opposite direction, showing the young man her curvy derriere.

 _Wonder what that Granger's up to, ruffling up such pretty things like that_ , he thought. It was no secret the curly-haired bookworm detested giving up the Head Girl badge because 'technically' she was an eighth year, and Hogwarts tradition dictated a seventh year be awarded the position. Still, she'd done pretty well at not upsetting the order of things. Whatever was going on between Olivia and Granger… he only hoped it could end in a heated argument where the two girls fought it out in a tub of pudding, stripped down to their lacy undergarments.

The thought elated him so much (What? Pureblood or not, he was a hot-blooded male in his prime!), he almost crashed into a ladder standing in the middle of the corridor around the next corner.

"Ah, Olivia, you finally came to your senses. Good for you! You will see, the theme is much more convincing when we don't go for imitations, but for the real things. Of course, that means-"

Draco heard the voice from above and easily identified it as Granger's, who apparently thought he was Olivia and thus kept talking to him about some nonsense or the other. Though, he couldn't concentrate on what the woman was babbling about, for he was far too distracted by the perfect rounds covered in tight muggle jeans waving precariously atop the ladder.

"-ahem." Draco cleared his throat, staring up at the brunette as she tilted her head down to discover him.

"Oh. It's you." Granger held onto the ladder with one arm while searching the hallway in all directions. "Did you happen to run into Olivia on your way to-" she glanced back to him again "-wherever you were off to?"

"I did," Draco smirked. "Tell me, Granger, is it simply a natural talent of yours to manage to piss off everyone who doesn't see eye to eye with you, or do you work on it in your dorm on your time off?"

"Well, it doesn't appear you're eye to eye with me at the moment, does it?"

It took a moment for the blond to soak in her words and register them. If he didn't know her as well as he did, he might have considered it flirting. Or, perhaps, that was just his hormones coming into play. Merlin, he needed to get laid soon. Even Hermione Granger was looking fetching in this lighting…

He swore he saw a mischievous spark in her eyes before she went on, "But even _your_ input could be valued. What do you think of the color red, Malfoy?"

Oh, he could give plenty _input_ , he thought to himself. "I think it needs to be taken out back and _avada_ 'd. You Gryffindors have simply ruined the color for anyone else."

She ignored his statement like a pro and resumed measuring whatever with a tape-a _muggle_ measuring tape, to be precise.

"But that doesn't change the fact that it's the perfect color for this year's Valentine's Day celebration. You know, red like love, but also like _everyone's_ blood-" he zoomed out because of the alluring backside wiggling from side to side. Had she always been like this? Obviously, his distraction led to him only capturing fragments of what Granger was currently explaining in great length to him.

"1920s... underestimated… massacre… turned out…" Draco didn't bother with the details. His head tilted to the side in wonder as Granger swayed on the ladder, occasionally lifting higher or lower and bringing or taking the delightful arse with her. "I asked the house elves to help out, but they seem weary of the idea."

Idea? Shit, he hadn't been listening at all, had he? "Hmm?"

"During the dance. Mipsy has reservations about the house elves becoming involved, but I told her it's time to stand up and be accounted for! You know? I said, 'No one will take you seriously unless you take yourself seriously.' She insists elves aren't supposed to shoot arrows. I told her to read Lord of the Rings." Granger giggled at some inside joke Draco didn't quite understand. "Anyway, when I'm through with this dance, the entire floor will be painted in crimson."

She looked at him as if she expected some reaction. Being a guy, he shrugged his shoulders and made a noncommittal noise, adding, "Sounds good," for good measure, hoping she'd turn around again.

"Really?" she grinned at him, doing exactly the opposite and climbing down the stairs to stand eye level with him on the rungs. "You mean it?"

"Sure," he said, taking a moment to assess the freckles on her nose and her sweeping eyelashes. "I mean… it makes… hold on. Come again? Arrows?"

Granger hopped off of the ladder, sticking her measuring tape into a beaded bag at the ladder's edge. She didn't address his concerns, instead swinging the bag over her shoulder and muttering to herself, "Olivia Bolivia won't know what hit her come Valentine's Day. Of course, she wouldn't know a good thing if it came and shot her straight in the heart, would she?" A look of determination skittered across her features. "Thanks for your input, Malfoy. It's good to know I have a partner in crime on the Slytherin side."

Crime? What crime? Draco never agreed to any crime! "Err… Granger." He put a finger up to plead his case, but the happy-go-lucky bookworm had already turned in the opposite direction, a skip in her step as she rounded the corner and out of sight.

Draco Malfoy knew what it felt to have stepped in deep hippogriff shit. Exactly like this. Was Granger off her rocker? What in the seven Hells could she possibly mean by 'crime' and 'shot her straight in the heart' and… oh. OH. The arrows. The crimson. " _She's a danger to us unsuspecting pupils, that one. I suspect they didn't check her thoroughly after the War."_ Massacre. Granger had used the word massacre, hadn't she? _1920s…_

Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces fell into place and, using Ockham's razor, led the young wizard to one conclusion: Hermione Granger meant to recreate the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre from the 1920's. And House elves and arrows were her weapons of choice.

* * *

"We have to put an end to this," Draco said, pacing the Slytherin hallways in front of the large portrait of Severus Snape, potions master and war hero.

"We?" the portrait asked, raising one thick, curled eyebrow in Draco's direction.

"Of course 'we.' Weren't you listening? I'll need you to follow her. Investigate and report back to me."

"I could think of other ways to spend my time," portrait Snape replied, his voice crisp and full of contempt.

"Yeah? Like what? You're a painting. What do you honestly think you're going to do with the rest of your days? Take up knitting?"

Professor Snape drawled back in his most contemptuous tone, "Ob-vi-ous-ly not. But there's a shortcut to Madam Hooch's locker room I frequently attend."

Scrunching his face in disgust, Draco made a gagging noise. Then, he used his Slytherin guiles to get what he wanted. "Well, then. If you don't want me telling Headmistress McGonagall you frequent the girls' locker rooms, I suggest you adhere to my demands."

Snape gave a snarl and said, "You're every bit like your father."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

* * *

"So?" Draco inquired as soon as his late godfather had returned to his portrait with billowing black robes.

"Excuse me?"

"What did you find out?"

"Aside from my godson starting sentences with an unbecoming 'so'?"

Draco impatiently tapped his expensive Italian slipper on the soft rug.

"You sound like my mother," the blond drawled.

"Thank you."

"That was no compliment -now, back to business. What, my dear potions master, could your covert self find out?"

"Your pretty project keeps company beneath even her. I saw her talking to Filch, and they exchanged opinions about, and I quote, 'how to get rid of all the mess afterwards'."

Draco gasped involuntarily, everything hinted at his worst suspicions. Damn, that was so predictable, wasn't it? The moment he had gotten rid of his past crimes and found a woman only remotely attractive, she had to go and make plans to become the next Lord of The Rings or whatever evil she was planning.

But he had no proof yet… With a conviction he was surprised about, he left the room, only grabbing one of the warm new school jumpers, which promoted open-mindedness for muggle things.

He returned five seconds later, a bit sheepishly, to ask, "And where, if you'd be so kind to share, did you see her?"

Deliberately ignoring that the young wizard still wore his slippers, Snape informed him coolly, "Seventh floor."

"Seventh floor -sweet baby dragons, that was where the Room of Requirement was! Do you think it's still up and running?"

The former Headmaster raised his eyebrows in an expression that conveyed how unbelievably dumb the question apparently was, like he was asking what a bezoar was good for or something equally first year.

"Riiiight. Forget I asked." With that, Draco went off in search of Granger, musing it was mildly hot she'd found a path to the dark side. Too bad it was at a time when he'd found his way to the light.

* * *

Draco lay in wait, his eyes never leaving the spot where the entrance to the Room of Requirements was supposed to be.

What was Granger up to? What had pulled her to the dark side? For sure it couldn't be a power hungry father like in his case, nor could it be the expectations of a maniac who had branded his mark on Draco's skin. Maybe his crazy aunt had tipped her over? After all, there were many examples of how people behaved differently after a traumatic incident. Or could the darkness have been within her all this time? The bottomless knowledge she possessed - a result of a deal with the Devil? One could only wonder...

His musings were interrupted, and quite pleasantly so, as it turned out. Granger emerged from whatever room she created, and Draco's breath got caught in his throat. If this was the outfit she decided to wear on her twisted crusade, she'd have at least all the males so pliant at her feet that she could easily _Imperio_ them to do her bidding.

She wore thin, tight pants that stretched over every lucious curve of her hips, thighs, and hind, matched with a strip of clothing across her breasts and shoulders, which covered little more than a bra, but still left too much to the imagination. Her hair was pulled back in an attempt at a bun, but loose strands of curls stuck up at odd angles, giving her a similar appearance to his deceased Aunt Bella in her youth. It was quite daunting as she tilted her head back and sipped on fresh water from some sort of plastic canister, giving a breathy sigh of relief when she was through.

He must have mirrored the sound, because her eyes whipped over to him. Caught red handed, he gulped sheepishly and waved from his corner of the hall. Merlin, it was entirely too hot in here, wasn't it? Nevermind the February winds… this hallway was a furnace!

"Malfoy." She tilted her head in greeting, but that only made him see the layer of sweat that reflected on her flushed skin.

"Granger. Uh… what did you do in there?" Best be straightforward with the witches, his father taught him; the girls needed to know what awaited them.

"Preparing," she replied, giving a sultry staredown to the Malfoy heir while chewing on her lower lip with her teeth. Draco found it difficult to concentrate.

"What for?" he asked, thinking of flobberworms and skrewts to keep his rising… problems at bay. One particular problem was only hidden by a thin scrap of clothing, after all…

"For Valentine's Day, of course," she answered, furrowing her eyebrows. "I told you about it, or have you forgotten already?" She brought a finger to her lips, and that's when Draco noticed it dripped with blood.

"Where did the blood come from?" He tried to control his voice, but couldn't help but notice a slight hitch in it. Now whether it was from his initial fear or the fact she looked entirely too switched on at the moment, he couldn't decide.

Her perfect lips curled up in a devilish smile as she observed the cut. "I guess I got a bit… _excited_."

"Excited?" Draco heard himself squeak. Merlin, he felt excited right now… and frightened. They said when humans became frightened, the fight or flight system took over automatically -so why did he, instead, turn into a puddle of mush in her intimidating presence?

"Yes. It happens a lot recently. Doesn't it happen to you, too, sometimes?"

He had the sudden urge to cross his legs to hide his state of excitement, but that would only make things worse, wouldn't it?

"Maybe you want to join me on another day? You could stop me before I go too far with things. Harry and Ron used to do that, though they had years of practice." Her eyes trailed down his form yet again, and she giggled, "But perhaps you should wear something else other than slippers and a jumper." Hermione winked playfully at him as if the whole ordeal was unbelievably funny as she sauntered down the hall, peeking over her shoulder every ten feet or so. Her hips swung tantalizingly as she rounded the hall, distracting Draco. But, when she finally was out of sight, the realization hit him like a falling hippogriff from the skies: Hermione Granger was in too deep. Practically begging for someone to pull her out from her darkness. _You could stop me before I go too far with things._ -Just how far did she intend to go?

Maybe it was time for Draco Malfoy to rise from the ashes and become a knight in shining armor for a damsel in distress? It would certainly be a first in his family's history.

* * *

"Professor Flitwick?"

From two rows behind her, Draco observed Granger shooting her hand in the air in that annoying way of hers.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Without a doubt, the tiny teacher expected her to answer his question (to which Draco paid no attention at all).

"May I excuse myself from today's lesson? It's just that my… you know what… deserves immediate attention."

Flitwick nodded with acquiescence, probably afraid she'd hint at something so utterly disgusting like her 'time of the month' that he let her go without hesitation. But when she got up from her seat to leave the classroom, she gave Draco a conspiratorial wink.

That wink was enough to pull Draco out of his daydreams and right into full blown subterfuge mode. Just what was she up to?

Hermione Granger shifted past him on her way up the center aisle, and Draco swore she placed her hand on his shoulder on purpose as she passed, but perhaps it was all to keep balance. Either way, her scent lingered as she left the classroom, and Draco forced himself away from his daydreams of burying his fingers inside that bushy mane long enough to formulate a plan: he needed to follow her.

"Professor," his hand went up into the air, resembling the perky bookworm.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"I need to use the loo."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"You're eighteen, Mister Malfoy, one could expect you to control your bladder."

"But it's urgent -please?" He very nearly choked on the last word. Draco swore the Professor rolled his eyes at him.

"Off you go."

Faster than a snitch, Draco left the dusty classroom. Where had she gone? Her dorm? But he didn't know the password. The library? Maybe… one glance at his expensive wrist watch told him Madam Pince had already closed the library for lunch break -and it frightened him a bit that he was aware of it. Where else? Of course -the Room of Requirement.

With a deep breath, he started off to the seventh floor, a bit in a haste because Granger had been given a head start. He had just passed a particularly ugly statue of a ghoul when a strict voice stopped him mid-run.

"Mister Malfoy. Don't you have a Charms lesson to attend?" the Headmistress didn't make it sound like a real question. More like an accusation.

"Well, actually…" Draco started, desperately fishing for an excuse he hadn't used yet in his years of schooling. He was on a mission, after all!

"Yes?" The witch observed him with an unnerving accuracy which must be part of her animagus persona.

But perhaps… she could be his ally? Snape had trusted her, so he could, too, perhaps?

"Profes- Headmistress McGonagall, may I speak openly with you?"

There was only a slight hesitation in the witch's posture, when she answered, "Of course. What bug ran over your porridge?"

He couldn't answer, 'A bird, not a bug,' so he went for, "I have observed some… suspicious streaks in Miss Granger, and I'm concerned."

McGonagall was unfazed as she pushed her specs up her nose and gave a patronizing smile. "I don't know what you're talking about. She appears perfectly normal to me, dutiful and dedicated as always."

"But she's skipping class, Professor! _Skipping class_! Doesn't that strike you as out of character?" If nothing, _this_ should have knocked some sense into her!

She gave a low hum from the back of her throat, cleared it, and folded her hands together. "As a matter of fact, it doesn't. Miss Granger skipped a whole year and still is miles ahead of her peers. If she needs to take some time to work on her extracurriculars…"

"You can't be serious," Draco sneered, earning a chastising glance from the witch, "She's planning on giving House Elves BOWS!"

"Miss Granger has a lot on her plate this final year, especially with this _special_ day coming up. Perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to judge, hmm? As far as I see, _you_ are the only one behaving suspiciously here. Maybe I should have a closer look at _your_ behavior, like the Ministry wants me to?"

Apparently, he was dismissed with this final question, for McGonagall turned on her heel and left him standing in the half shadow of the corridor.

"I expect Professor Flitwick to tell me that you returned to his lesson in good health," she called over her shoulder.

His well-mannered upbringing forced him to answer with, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, and Mister Malfoy? Ten points from Slytherin for dubious behavior."

With that, the witch rounded the bend and was out of sight. Draco grumbled under his breath, debating about really going back to class. First Professor Flitwick, now McGonagall… did Granger have all the staff under an _Imperius_ curse? How could they be so blind as to the carnage about to unveil itself at the dance?

Well, if they wouldn't do anything, he would need to take matters into his own hands.

"I don't care how sensational your arse is in muggle jeans, Granger. I'm taking you down."

* * *

Thankfully, the woman he had set his eyes on behaved quite predictably when it came to her studying habits. That was why, on the evening of February 11th, he strolled through the rows of the library, his grey eyes restlessly searching for a curly mob of brown hair that was so characteristically Granger. Finally -because who knew that there were so many books in here?- he spotted her, hunched over a table in the section about Dark Magic.

He smirked triumphantly, even if no one saw it. She was in muggle clothes again; her cardigan had fallen to the floor next to her chair, and he had a nice view of her white blouse and what appeared to be a dark blue bra underneath. Lace? Silk? Push-up? He hoped not the last one. False advertisement, is what that was.

He forcibly cleared his head of all naughty thoughts. He needed to focus now, and that meant he had to keep his blood in his head and not between his legs.

"Well, well, well… predictable Granger," he drawled, curling around the table to meet her face-to-face. It was more than mildly disappointing when he learned she was fast asleep, her mouth parted and resting atop a thick, black tome which read, 'One Thousand and One Ways to Take Down a Wizard Without a Wand.'

The title made him gulp audibly, undoubtedly one of the dark works that fit perfectly into his home library. And she had such easy access to it? Maybe she _Imperius'ed_ the librarian as well?

Draco reached for the book, ready to soak in its dark contents in hopes of understanding Granger's diabolical plan in full detail, but when he tried to pry it from underneath her, Hermione pulled the book closer, as if it were a comfy pillow and not a firm bit of paper and leather. Some things, he surmised, would always be a part of her, and her love of books was one of those things.

What forced this pretty creature before him to jump off the deep end and plan such a horrific undertaking on the most romantic of holidays? The past few days, he'd searched the library for lists of dark objects, but none could explain her bitter need to shoot up the school (and involve house elves, of all things)! Honestly, didn't her love for them stay her hand at all? Or had S.P.E.W. gotten to her head?

He wished he could understand what went on in her brilliant mind.

"Mmm… Draco…" she muttered, eyes still closed.

Shit. Did she know he was here?

"Draco… you have to do it harder…"

Well, something was harder for sure, and it rested inside his boxer-briefs.

With almost inhuman effort, he tried to catch some of the phrases at the top of the pages the witch was still clutching.

He braced himself for something like, ' _take two spoons of aconite, put it into his favorite morning tea and serve it with a smile'_ , but instead he read,

 _Gentle, seemingly coincidental touches will get him used to your physical presence,_

and,

 _Advanced tactics, unit 3:  
a) "My inner witch is burning, use your wand to douse the fire?" - note: let your eyes wander down to his loins here.  
b) Thread your fingers through his belt loop and then release him. -note: men are like fish, and they need to follow the bait.  
c) If you're feeling extra daring, 'accidentally' drop your wand and bend over to pick it up. Slowly._

With him imagining Granger following every rule in the book, Draco knew he was lost. She wanted to seduce him because she knew _he_ knew her secret plans! That must be it.

And boy did it work. Just picturing her bending over for him made him retreat from the library at once, in the direction of his dormitories, to rub one off in the shower. For the greater good, of course. He would stay _hard_ and vigilant.

* * *

The next two days, Draco Malfoy was a _wreck_. Not just in the muggle sense, where it looked as if he'd been cruised over by an automobile or jet airplane, but in the wizarding sense where his magic would, uncontrollably, set off in small bursts. When a seventh year Hufflepuff sent a spelled paper airplane across the room, Draco automatically ducked for cover, shielding his head with his textbook while accidentally setting his quill on fire in the process.

In the Great Hall, a Slytherin girl tossed an orange wedge in his direction to flirt, but Draco's magic took it as a sign of attack and sent an entire arsenal of potato slices from her plate flying into her face. Needless to say, it took quite a bit of apologies and a flirtatious knee touch to smooth over that mess.

And then there was Hermione Granger with her more-than-fine arse swinging this way and that through the halls, distracting him with light touches as she walked by or asking him about homework as if she wasn't planning on murdering a ton of students in two days.

Every time he encountered her, he had to imagine her rotting in Azkaban for her crimes against the wizarding kind. Her beautiful chocolate eyes would dull, her luscious curls would grow filthy, and her oh-so-alluring curves would thin.

No, he had to prohibit that at all costs, he thought to himself. But how could he stop her? Whenever he was close enough to her to inhale her scent, close enough to talk about the utter madness of her agenda, he shivered in fear of setting her off before he had a real plan.

"Granger," he tried once as she cornered him on the way to Care of Magical Creatures, "don't you think…you might be taking things too far?"

"Too far?" she asked with such an innocent tone, Draco was forced to remind himself she planned murder in cold blood.

"We've all been through a lot this last year… perhaps this isn't the best way to go about it."

Granger pursed her lips together and tilted her head to the side. "I thought you understood the significance. I'll admit, it's been rather difficult to get over the fact that the Head Girl position is only allowed to a seventh year… but this has given me purpose, Draco. I thought you knew."

Draco Malfoy was entirely too distracted by the fact she used his first name, and he took a moment to comprehend it before soaking in her words and bringing his reality back around. "Well, I… erm…" This was entirely too undignified for his tastes. "Most people find a hobby to keep themselves busy if they don't get what they want. Not… what you're doing. It's too far."

"If you're concerned about my health, I promise I'm getting plenty of rest."

"Like you were in the library?"

She paused. "You… saw that?"

"Mhmm." He nodded.

She blushed, and the pink on her skin contrasted enticingly with the curls framing her face.

"You know, those books… they help me get ideas on how to approach certain things."

"Hermione-" her name rolling from his lips left a pleasant tingle he'd rather not think about, "You don't need to do that. There are so many people who can help you."

The blush vanished and her eyes widened, scandalised, "Who? Harry and Ron? They're my best friends!"

"Precisely," he paused again, his eyes firmly resting on the desperate brunette. "That's what friends are for, don't you think?" Draco wasn't certain, because he didn't exactly have friends. Then he gathered all of his courage, and added, "And if you want, I am there for you, too."

He could almost hear his ancestors rolling in their graves and his father signing the document to disinherit him. But the happy smile on Granger's face was so worth it.

His heartbeat thrummed against his rib cage so loudly that it certainly was heard in the dungeons when she placed a small hand on his forearm. "See you on Valentine's Day? It's going to be marvellous! All the hard work is going to pay off, finally."

Draco thought he'd melted to the floor by the way his body warmed, and before he could get a word edgewise, she walked away, leaving him trembling in her wake.

Damn it. This wasn't becoming of a Malfoy at all, being reduced to rubble by a muggleborn. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't the hottest thing he'd experienced.

It was with a delay of about thirty seconds that his brain needed to restart again before he comprehended her last words, ' _hard work pays off'_ , ' _Valentine's Day'_ -

He hadn't stopped her from realizing her nefarious ideas _at all_.

On the evening of the thirteenth, Draco lay wide awake in the solitude of his dorm, going over what he intended to do tomorrow. He'd aim his wand at her. All ten, surprisingly flexible, inches.

And then he'd take her down with it. However, the connection of 'taking down' and this witch made his other - _slightly_ shorter than ten inches- wand want to control his actions. But this time, he stubbornly fought the urge down.

* * *

Valentine's Day came with blinding sunshine reflecting on the snow. All morning, Draco searched the castle for Hermione, to no avail. She wasn't in the library, nor in the Great Hall where Olivia Bolivia started the decorations on her own. He couldn't find her anywhere; he even checked the Astronomy Tower.

The dread of the upcoming catastrophe constricted Draco's heart, and as time went by and the sun set, making space for darkness, the young wizard grew desperate. Where was Hermione Granger?

It started shortly before dinner.

The house elf he saw when he left the bathroom wore a symbolic red cozie over his bat-like ears. And a quiver and a bow.

Swallowing his pride, he addressed the creature, albeit he was careful not to touch it. "Stop whatever you are doing!" he yelled (that tone had worked once), but the ugly thing merely scrunched his tiny face and snarled at Draco, "You wait. Now, it is goings to be your turn!"

Then it aimed its bow at the unassuming Malfoy. Draco saw his life flash before his eyes -all the sexual positions he had yet to try, all of the food he never got to taste, as well as the women - _plink_! Something quivered in front of his eyes, and when he focused, he realized it was the arrow, driven perfectly into the grout of the wall, with a small scroll attached to it.

"What the bloody…" he began to ask the house elf, but it had disappeared from sight, no doubt to spread carnage. He plucked the rolled up parchment from the arrow, unraveled it, and read it silently to himself.

 _Need you to move my Valentine's Day plans along._

 _RoR._

 _H._

This was it. The final showdown. Should he go to the Headmistress? No, she was already lost, bending to Granger's every will. Alerting the Ministry? As if they would believe him. He would be an ex-Death Eater crying wolf in their eyes. Potty and the Weasel? A definite no. They couldn't solve the crosswords in Witch Weekly without _her_.

Suddenly, he remembered something his late grandfather told him once and his cowardly father had forgotten, _Malfoys don't run, Draco. You always have to stand your ground_.

Maybe he could give in to her advances for show and then stun her? He'd take her to St. Mungo's for mental health exams. Yes, that could work. It had to…

With a decisive snap of his fingers, Draco hastened in the direction of his dorm. He wouldn't be so careless to come unprepared.

He ruffled through his Quidditch gear, strengthening the shoulder guards, knee guards, and… jewels cup. Merlin knew they were his most precious assets, of course. He still had yet to produce an heir to the Malfoy fortunes. Until that was squared away (years from now) he would need to keep them protected at all cost. He added thick wards to his Quidditch uniform, repelling spells and the like, and double laced his boots with exact precision. No need to stumble into enemy grounds. Even if falling into his enemy's chest was something out of a fantasy…

Could he do this? Could he really take her down? She was the smartest witch of her age, yes, but there was one thing most everyone forgot: for every bright witch, there was an equally bright wizard. Draco was fairly confident he fit the bill.

With his wand gripped tight in his hand, he checked his hair in the mirror. He still needed to look handsome if he were to approach the witch of his desires -er, strategic battle plans. He'd stop her before she ordered the elves further into this frenzy. Maybe after a psychiatric evaluation at St. Mungo's, she'd be flattered he'd wanted to help and accept an invitation for tea? Hah. And house elves could fly with little feathered wings…

* * *

He paced back and forth three times in front of the damned Room of Wishes, demanding 'the room where Granger waits for me.' Obediently, the door opened for him.

The area was dimly lit, a fireplace crackling in the background. He spotted a table beneath the window, undoubtedly that was where she polished her torture instruments.

Candles floated up and down. Of course, she'd need some light to finish him off.

"Draco." The voice was low and velvety, sending excited shivers down his spine. "I knew you'd come." She stepped into view. Now, that was a battle wear! She wore a deep red dress, hugging her curves perfectly and flaring out from the waist down. Her feet were bare, which made no sense at all. But massacres never did.

"I told you I'd be here for you," he said, a lump forming in his throat. The Quidditch gear felt itchy against his skin, but he refused to acknowledge it. "But, Hermione-" he watched her visibly shudder at her name.

"You're all dressed up. Just come from Quidditch practice?" Her tone was heavy, laced with appreciation.

Draco straightened his shoulders and shook his head. "Protection."

Her face tilted to the side and she smiled almost shyly, "Not the kind of protection I had in mind, but a lovely gesture. And very… pleasing to look at." Her pink tongue darted forward to glide over her bottom lip.

"I won't fall into your seductive trap so you can bathe the school in crimson blood!" Draco lashed out, unable to bear the tension a second longer, his fingers firmly gripping his wand.

The temptress blinked slowly. Once. Twice.

Then, a very Malfoy-ish smirk creeped over her face. She approached him like a predator now-deliberately, slowly. Her eyes locked with his, and it would be so easy to get lost in those big, chocolate orbs. _Snap out of it Malfoy! You have to wait for the perfect moment to take your aim!_ he reminded himself.

"You've forgotten to safeguard your most valuable weapon, Draco."

Glancing down to his protective cup, Draco sighed a breath of relief. What was she going on about? His wand was still in his hand, and his other weapon of brandishment was snugged securely beneath the confines of his protective wear…

Hermione giggled, drawing his attention back up to her face. She looked at the spot between his eyes and tapped it. "No, Draco. Your brain." She turned away from him, back exposed, and sauntered forward.

 _Now's my chance,_ Draco thought, but he became lost in the tantalizing swing of her hips. He licked his lips, now suddenly so dry, and salivated at the sight.

"Then again," she said, "I could overestimate you. You _did_ come here, alone, on a day when everyone else is occupied. I'm not sure if that's out of wit or hormones."

Hormones? Oh, she didn't need to get him started on hormones. His were driving him up the wall, begging him to give in and reach out to touch her round hind…

"Hermione, I think you need to stop this. What you're planning is dangerous, and… and I can't let you go on with it." He puffed out his chest.

As if someone had spoken a key word, she broke in front of his eyes. Her hands covered her face, her shoulders were shaking. Wild, unhinged sounds came from her throat. "I can't keep up this charade anymore," she sobbed, and Draco felt deep confusion.

"I'm giving up. I don't know how you Slytherins do it all the time."

Misguided, she was. Slytherins had a knack for getting into trouble, yes, but what she spoke of was on a totally other level. He stepped forward to envelope her in a hug as he had so often seen Gryffindors partake in.

Just when he had wrapped his arms around her petite figure, she raised her head, undoubtedly to thank him for his interfering. Hero of the day and all. Tears were still running down her reddened cheeks, and he had the urge to wipe them away with his thumb.

Then Draco discovered she wasn't crying-she was laughing!

"I haven't had this much fun in years, Draco, thank you." Her fingers idly played with the lacing on his chest. "You didn't _really_ think I was up to something evil, did you?"

"Uhmmm -no?"

" _Draco!_ "

"It fit together so logically, you rambling something about massacres… and giving out bows and arrows to house elves…"

"Yes, as a theme!" She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm in charge of the dance tonight, Draco! It's what I've been working on all week!"

"The dance?"

"Yes!"

"Not a massacre?"

"A massa- oh, for the love of house elves! No!" She giggled. "I've been trying to tie in the 1920s setting. It was such a romantic era!"

"And it also involved a bloodbath! On Valentine's Day!"

" _Someone_ has a wild imagination."

"So the house elves-"

"-are passing out Valentines."

"And all that bit about painting the Great Hall in crimson?"

"Red is the traditional color of Valentine's Day! At least, it is the most ungendered color. Pink would have been over the top, don't you think?"

"I have to admit… I didn't think too much. I was a bit, uhm- distracted." He really had to work on his wording; his father would have thrown a fit.

"Distracted? How so?"

"Your book! The one I found you hunched over in the library. And you were using all those tactics from it, trying to seduce me! To keep me distracted so I wouldn't thwart your evil… now that I say that, it sounds rather idiotic."

"Yes! Maybe you should have your mental health checked?" Her tone was playful -thankfully. And it did nothing to lessen his embarrassment. Just when he wanted to start his first try at an apology _ever_ , she spoke again.

"Did it work?"

"Huh?" he belted out automatically, not entirely sure what she meant.

"The um… the tactics. Did they…" she stepped forward, and her hand came out, fingers curling in his belt loops, just the way it said in the book "...work?" Draco then realized that book was entirely correct: men were like fish, and he was one who thoroughly enjoyed taking the bait.

"Yes," he said, reaching out and wrapping his slender fingers around her waist, moving down to her arse to -finally- give it a squeeze. It was heavenly, and toned, and -fuck, was she wearing any undergarments beneath that dress? "You know, I feel rather foolish in all of this gear, now. Perhaps you'd like to… help me out of it?"

"Of course." Her fingers wandered towards his belt buckle, and he inhaled sharply in anticipation. "After all, you have only about twenty minutes left to get into your dashing dress robes."

His frustration must have been visible to her (though, thanks to the jewel cup, the situation down there was invisible to her), because she gave him a mischievous smile.

"I've worked so hard for this dance. And afterwards, I'm more than willing to help you out of them to show my… dedication to the day of lovers."

So maybe Hermione Granger wasn't Hell-bent on a murder spree in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. But she certainly made a favorable companion to the Valentine's Day dance that evening, and her… oral dedication later in the evening more than made up for the stress she'd inadvertently put him through during the month.

Maybe he should pay more attention when a woman was speaking.

Heh, _yeah_ , he thought, _when house elves fly_.

It had to suffice that he paid attention when one certain, brown-eyed and curly-haired witch was speaking (but only for her).

* * *

 **Once again, I'd like to stress this is a 50-50 collaboration with LightofEvolution, and she should be given all the love as well!**


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